I just submitted my mythica novel, Ragnarök Willie, to the 2013 Amazon Breakout Novel Award (ABNA) competition. Not holding my breath, but hopeful nevertheless. Below is the “pitch” I submitted, a teaser if you will.

Ragnarök Willie

Thirteen semi-mythical valkyries want to find Tor’s hammer. A blue-bearded giantess wants to blow Heimdallr’s horn. The Swedish secret police and the CIA want to forestall Ragnarök, the battle at the end of the world. Lasse Nordberg just wants a job, a girlfriend who doesn’t cheat and the occasional latte.

Lasse has women problems. Being an unemployed college dropout with an unfaithful girlfriend is bad. Wrestling a giantess for the hammer is worse. Standing watch amidst the ruins of ancient Valhalla, surrounded by thirteen blondes with axes, ten who want to kill him, two who want to mate with him, and one whom he just killed, well that just sucks.

Then the Finns invade Sweden on skis, the Chinese dispatch an aircraft carrier to the Norwegian Sea, Delta Force parachutes into Valhalla with a backpack nuke, and Lasse has no time for coffee.

If he allows one of the valkyries to steal Tor’s hammer, hundreds of thousands will die. If he blows a third time on Heimdallr’s horn, the world will end. If he doesn’t get down on one knee fast, he’ll lose the one woman who has his back. And she’s got the hammer.

Ragnarök Willie is a 89K word mythica fantasy set in the far north of present-day Sweden, tossing Old Norse mythology, global domination, religious fervor, a pending Nordic apocalypse, and a young man’s insecurities into a supernatural blender and pressing High.

Lasse, pronounced LAH-suh. A common Swedish nickname for Lars. Funny, he has trouble with this too:

“Call me Bull,” said a booming voice, in British English, from behind the desk I had backed into. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lassie.”
I spun around, slower this time, determined not to fall again. Bull was aptly named, his neck roughly the diameter of my chest, his grip only half a notch less incapacitating than Mist’s. “Er, it’s Lasse. LAH-suh.”
“Of course mate.” He squeezed harder. “My bad.”